


All

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Complete, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Bondage, One Shot, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karai pays a captive Leo a visit. What can she offer him, when escape is not an option? </p><p>Leo x Karai - dubcon/noncon, I suppose . . . Rated M - for sexual content. Set roughly in a blend of 2k3 and 2k7 - written for a contest over on Tumblr for ninjainyourpants - and Winner of that contest for written work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All

He didn't remember being moved. He had no recollection beyond the echoing snap of the whip, the fists pounding into his face and side of his head, the sound of the bo breaking across his chest, the men's laughter. He remembered lights. Bright and cold. He remembered threats and promises of violence kept. He'd lost count of days. But he thought, maybe it had been seven? He wasn't sure. It hurt his head to think. His body thrummed like a broken engine, sputtering in jags of cramps and pain. When the door opened he turned his head, automatically, though why he couldn't fathom. Whoever was coming inside now wasn't coming to help. One swollen eye cracked open, dried blood flaked over bruises. He frowned as his blurry vision doubled and cleared.

The person was too small to be a man, nearly child-like in size. Petite. But familiar green eyes gazed up at him from behind a metal mask. His image reflected there was distorted, but even still, he did not recognize his own face, so swollen and discolored. He looked away, blinking, unable to fully open his left eye, but now knowing why. The entire left side of his face was a mangled mass. He felt his chest pinch with fear as he wondered if he'd lost his eye. And beneath that fear was another. He did not want her here. He did not want her to see him in his weakest, most shameful low.

"What do you want?" It came out more like 'Wha d'you wan?' And there was more whine than growl in the tone which served to further shame him. He licked his bottom lip and winced as a sharp reminder that it was split severely jolted through his mouth. He groaned as the chair he was strapped to was shifted. His head lulled, feeling too heavy for his neck. The legs squeaked against the cement floor and she looked over her shoulder.

He jumped as soft hands, feeling like pads covered with silk, ran up and down the fronts of his shins. The gentle caress was more like pain than pleasure after his body had become overly sensitized from the brutal treatment it had been subjected to. He heard a delicate intake of breath followed by the hushed sound of distress as she examined the state he'd been left in. He didn't want to acknowledge how his heart was pounding beneath her scrutiny. He didn't want to give any thought to the hope that had initially expanded inside his chest before quickly deflating when he recalled that she'd done nothing to aid him in his moment of desperate need. The embers of resentment flickered to life, but he was too tired to fan them into true anger. Besides, if he were honest with himself, he knew there was nothing she could have done. And yet … to have her stand by as he was tormented and beaten. He turned his head, not wanting to look at her more than he had to.

Then something wet was pressed to his mouth. He cringed away, tossing his head to the side roughly, as it burned his lips, but then, realizing it was water, he pressed into it eagerly, sucking and slurping the moisture from the dripping rag held to his mouth. When removed he felt the pang of disappointment, but it was quickly replaced with relief as the rag returned. He shook as he drank, feeling the water spilling down his chin and over the front of him. She did this a few more times until with a slight turn of his face he made it known that he didn't need anymore.

His breath came in shallow pants as he felt her begin to dress some of his wounds. The smell of ointment stung his nose as she worked it onto the burns up and down the length of both of his extended arms, bound to the back of the chair with rope and plastic zip ties. He made no sound as she cleaned and wrapped the rest of his wounds. Feeling slightly better for the water and the medical treatment, he turned to level a look at her.

"I thought you were above such menial chores, Karai," his voice was hoarse, not much above a whisper; still gravely from being strangled by the rope they had dragged him across the compound with the second day of their toying with him. The bruised imprint lingering in an ugly dark mark going around the middle of his throat.

She ignored him. It rankled him. He could not ignore the fact that she could be setting him free right now. Helping him. Doing something. Ridiculous as it was, it hurt. He recalled her standing in the throng of men, up on the dais, watching passively as he was beaten for the Shredder's entertainment. He blinked, staring at the opposite wall of the cell he found himself in; hating himself for the sting of tears burning the back of his eyes. As if sensing his misery, her fingertips lingered between applying the butterfly closure to one gaping wound on his shoulder. The moment he sensed her weakness, he lashed out.

"Is that your esteemed position within the mighty Foot Clan, now? Nursemaid to a filthy mutant? Do they have you wipe the other prisoners' –"

The sharp smack cut his sentence off and blinded him with a white flash of pain. The chair lurched from the impact. The copper tang of blood filled his mouth. His head lulled to one side and he shuddered with the effort to right it. His head swam and he felt suddenly nauseous. He swallowed back the bile. He turned his face and spat a glob of blood out onto the floor. It sprayed crimson; vivid and accusatory against the null gray of the cement.

Then he sensed her fold into herself. From the corner of the eye he could see out of, he saw her drop. He felt her arms come to rest on top of his thighs, felt the silk of her hair falling over his skin, tickling him. He glanced down to see her kneeling between his legs, head resting down on his lap. A line of blood mixed with spittle dribbled down the front of his bottom lip. She was warm, like a blanket draped over him. He blinked slowly. Everything ached. Inside and out. The silence fell between them. Accusations and blame, betrayal and hurt, hung like drapes blotting out the light of forgiveness.

He would not forgive her complicity in this, he decided stubbornly. He had once thought there was something between them. He had once hoped for something more than friendship. That her acceptance of him, her similar understanding of Bushido, afforded him a precious opportunity. But he'd been wrong. Ever trusting, foolishly so, in the good that he so desperately wanted,  _needed_ , to see in her. His chin dipped onto his chest. He suddenly felt tired. Exhausted and weary of her presence. He opened his mouth to tell her to leave. To order her despite the fact that he was her prisoner and she his captor. But as he inhaled to speak, his breath caught in his throat.

Awareness of her fingers caressing him, along the lower ridge of his plastron, between his legs, slowly, gently, blossomed over his entire body. His thighs jerked. His aching body stiffened. He wondered if she realized. If she had any idea of the significance of that particular location on his body. Just beneath, just below he, like his brothers, was tucked away. But his answer came as she rubbed harder, pressing her fingertips up and down until his breath became shallow and fast. Of course she did, the whore, he thought viciously. Though battered, his body was still subject to the natural response of such attention. He felt his neglected masculinity awakening at the attention and he swallowed. He tried to shift away, but the way he was bound to the chair would not allow it. He squirmed. Stewed in his anger, humiliation and his so carefully disguised desire, now being unveiled. Exposed.

Her hand slid under him and she found his tail. With two hands she reached under him and pulled it from its hidden place, tucked up against his body. Her forehead rested against his lower abdomen as she stroked it. The motion caused rippling waves of pleasure up through him and the sensation was so at odds with the last few days of only feeling pain that he cried out in surprise and need. He bit back the sound and shook his head; cheeks burning with shame.

"What are … stop." His voice cracked at the last word. He swallowed as he felt her kiss him. Lips that he fantasized pressing his mouth into were now at his groin. His cheeks flamed bright red to match the blood dripping down his chin. The pressure in his lower plastron became intolerable. His chest tightened and his shoulders shook. This was just another torment to lay upon him. He clenched his jaw. Said between gritting teeth, "Stop." But his courage withered as her tongue lapped at him. He shivered. It was hot and wet and he swelled thickly, nearly emerging. Keeping himself concealed began to hurt. Badly. He couldn't hold himself back much longer. His thighs thrummed with the effort.

This time his voice was a whimper as he pleaded, and he despised himself for it, "D-Don't do this. N-Not here, Karai. N-Not like th-this." Her only response was to pull on his tail roughly and silence him.

He looked around helplessly and bleakly wondered if there were cameras set up. He wouldn't put it past them. His chest constricted as her tongue made another long slow sweep. She made a low humming sound and he shuddered with the vibration. A short, rough sound broke from the back of his throat. His breath was coming faster, shallow and raspy, and had he not been tied to the chair, had he not spent the last few days being beaten and starved, he would have knocked her back, and made his escape. But the ropes remained secure, despite his weak attempts. Heat rushed through him as her fingers stroked his tail more insistently. The third time she slid her tongue down and ran it along the lower ridge of his plastron he dropped with a groan and a violent shudder.

" _Haah!"_  he cried as she shifted and gripped him quickly around the base of his partially erect shaft, squeezing and pulling it towards her face; snatching at it like a prize she had won. His body trembled as she paused, considering the size and shape of him. This secret part of him. Then slowly she wrapped her other hand around him and he closed his eyes. He grew harder inside her of firm grasp. His body so eager for her touch. Straining inside her fists.

He shook his head in denial. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Why would she do this to him? He sputtered, "Th-This is dishonorable … to do this to … a p-prisoner …"

Not surprisingly, she ignored him again and dipped herself down to bring the thick end of his cock into her warm, wet mouth. The sensation had his head rolling back and his hips shamelessly rolling up and forward to accommodate her. He groaned and pinched his eyes closed. It felt so good. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. All at once he melted and grew harder still, rigid and enormous, filling out fully inside the slick warmth of her mouth. He felt her gag and there was at once a savage sense of vindication from it as well as a terrible need to pull away and out and apologize profusely. But his duplicitous thoughts were wiped clean as he felt her hands working at the base of him; sliding up and down, even as her tongue rubbed along the bottom part of him that was in her mouth. Heat and lust rose up inside of him, washing away the pain. So many days of anguish and now this intense pleasure. It was too much. He felt himself slipping.

His control was long gone and as she bobbed her head and lapped at him and sucked against his rigid flesh he found himself grunting and trying to thrust deeper into her mouth. His hips tensed, his thighs shook and he strained against the bindings holding him back. Suddenly, a surge of anger and dark lust welled up within him. He had an image of throwing her to the floor and driving into her. Of holding her arms back and pounding into her with all his strength, holding back nothing. Tearing into her, through her. Tears of shame and confusion, impotent fury, blinded his vision as the coiled tension tightened in his loins. She moved faster, taking him deeper than he thought she'd be able to; sucking at him, drawing out his dignity, his honor.

He imagined breaking free, slapping her away from him, screaming in her face that she was nothing to him, taking her and shaking her, then pinning her down and fucking her. Rolling her over and fucking her until she screamed. All the while hating her … hating her and what she'd done to him. Turning him inside out, tearing pieces out of him that were not hers to take. That he would have given to her … he would have given them to her … because … he loved her more than anything else in the entire world. Loved her desperately, fervently. He wanted to worship her if she'd let him. He'd be her slave. He'd do anything for her. Anything. If only she'd let him. He would give all of himself to her. Always. Forever. All. Because he loved her. He loved her!

He jerked and bucked violently as his cum spurted into her mouth, his hot seed gushing, filling her mouth fully until spilling between her swollen lips. Hot and slippery, it coated him as he cried out and whimpered, shook his head, shedding tears, unable to hold back anything. Beaten and defeated. By his worst enemies; the Foot Clan, the Shredder and his love.

She sat back and wiped her bottom lip with the back of her hand, eyeing him as he slumped awkwardly in his seat, panting and gasping, shuddering and blinking down at her. His dripping cock slid slowly back as he softened; back to the protective confines of his lower plastron. His throat worked as she stared at him. He could not guess at her thoughts. There was nothing of his that was not clear and exposed. His body, his heart, his very soul lay bare for her appraisal.

"I can't let you go, Leo," she said at last as she stood up, moving the first aid kit from one hand to the other and straightening her shirt. She licked her lips and he could not tear his eyes away from the pink of her lover's tongue sweeping across them. He trembled. "They will kill us both. Slowly. But I can give you something to look forward every night. I can give you that, at least."

She ran her fingertips along the side of his face and then turned away.

"Karai, wait," he called out, hoarse and hollowed out.

She paused at the door a moment. Without glancing at him she said to the floor, "Perhaps if I am careful … he will allow me to keep you." When she looked up her eyes were bright with tears. Haunted. "But there would be a cost."

He blinked at her; held his breath.

"He would take from you that which makes you a man." Her fingertips went to her lip. "All of you. I do not know if I could take that from you, Leonardo."

She turned away then. The door opened and shut. The bolt was driven home. He sat, shivering and lost. Spent. But more frightened than ever.


End file.
